


Worry

by Birdbitch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he doesn’t show up for a few days, Grantaire’s friends are understandably concerned about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worry

”It’s funny,” Jehan says one day, and when he starts that way with anything, what’s he’s about to say isn’t going to be funny at all. He has a sort of furrowed look on his brow and it’s not exactly pity that he’s trying to express, but something close to it. “Enjolras has this sad look about him, doesn’t he?”

Bahorel leans closer to him. “I think it might be that he’s missing Grantaire,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Ah, but he would never admit it,” Jehan answers. “It’s dreadful.” He thinks for a moment before speaking again. “Do—do you know where Grantaire is?”

“If I did, he’d have had me sworn to secrecy,” Bahorel answers.

“Then you do know.”

“I knew two days ago. He might have changed his flat or wound up in jail or worse. I’m afraid he wasn’t doing well when I saw him and there was little I could do to help.” Bahorel turns and takes a drink from the bottle of wine he brought over to the table when the meeting was starting to come to a close.

Feuilly, who has been listening, takes his turn to say something. “Where was it that you saw him, Bahorel? You of all people should be able to discern his whereabouts—you know the entire city. If he’s injured, we would be poor friends indeed to let him suffer alone.” Bahorel scratches his chin and sighs.

“I asked around last night, when he didn’t make his way over here—like I said, he was a wreck—and nobody I asked seemed to have any idea where he was. I’ve had my friends asking about anywhere they can, but I’m afraid there’s no news.”

The three of them sit in silence. “Enjolras does appear to be rather on edge,” Feuilly says. “Or, as much as he’d ever be willing to show, I suppose. Look now—” they look up and at him and see that his eyes are scanning for something, “—he’s been looking at the door and Grantaire’s usual seat all night. He might not even realize he’s doing it; I don’t think he does, anyways.”

“No,” Jehan says, “I don’t think he even realizes how much he seems to care for Grantaire at all. It’s sad, I think. A little tragic.”

“Then we should resolve to find Grantaire and bring him back,” Feuilly says. “I’m sure our friends would agree; and even if we cannot bring him back here, we can at the very least make sure he is safe.”

Bahorel nods. “A great idea, Feuilly. We’ll start right away.”

—

The problem is that Enjolras knows exactly how much Grantaire’s absence is affecting him. He knows because he is experiencing it and he knows how it looks when he keeps glancing towards the door hoping that Grantaire might stumble in, and yet he keeps doing it anyways. Part of him fears that it was something he might have said—and it worries him to no end that he could have pushed him away.

Despite whatever image he might present, Enjolras does like Grantaire.

It’s been a few days since he’s come to a meeting and the longer it goes without him showing up, the more and more anxious Enjolras feels. While Bahorel, Jehan, and Feuilly are coming up with their own plan to find Grantaire, Enjolras is making one himself.

He waits until all of the others have left before he leaves himself, just in case Grantaire does show up at the last minute. When he doesn’t, Enjolras leaves the building and walks into the night. He isn’t entirely sure where he’s going, not at first, but then things start becoming familiar and he is reminded that these are the streets where he first saw Grantaire, and he wonders if perhaps Grantaire might have made his way back to his old haunts. Enjolras considers asking around to see if anybody has seen him, but decides against it, choosing instead to run in the direction of the building Grantaire used to live in.

(When he was younger, Enjolras modeled once for a man who found him lost and he remembers his way back to the studio of the man who painted him, and he remembers the way the man was not much older than himself, and he remembers the disappointment in his chest when, after a few years, he saw the man again as what seemed to be the shell of what he used to be.)

Nobody asks him why he’s at the building, and nobody bothers him when he runs up several flights of stairs, heart racing and eyes becoming darker the further and further he goes. When he finally reaches that top floor, he looks frightful—he is beautiful and wild and anybody who didn’t know him might think him a relic of a past age. He recognizes, when he gets there, the door, with the “R” scratched in the upper right hand corner, and he tries to take a second to compose himself but finds he cannot and he races towards the door and begins banging on it as hard as he can.

He nearly falls in when it’s opened, but rather than meeting the floor he winds up against a study chest, caught by a pair of strong arms. When he looks up, he is met by Grantaire’s face, and Grantaire has never looked so worse for wear but Enjolras, overjoyed that he is, at the very least, alive, wraps his arms around him.

“Did somebody tell you I was here?” Grantaire asks, voice rough. He smells like wine and sweat and Enjolras looks at him with a fierce expression.

“No. Nobody had to.” He invites himself into the flat and closes the door behind him. “Why would you leave like that? I—we were all worried about you!”

Grantaire snorts and turns away from him. “Sometimes you just need to get away,” he says, and it’s a sad kind of sound and Enjolras doesn’t understand.

“Was it something I said?”

“Why do you assume it had anything to do with you?”

Enjolras doesn’t know how to answer that, and he stares down at his feet. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “You’re right. You didn’t have to tell any of us that you were just going to—just going to disappear. But it would have been nice to know.” He begins to turn away, and Grantaire stops him with a gentle hand on his wrist.

“How did you find me, Enjolras?”

“You’ve brought me here before,” Enjolras says. “If you need to be alone, I’ll leave. I’m sorry. I should have realized that you needed…to get away.”

Grantaire shakes his head and sighs. “Well, you’re here already. Stay with me.”

“Would you let me?”

“Oh, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, voice soft. “You seem to think I dislike your presence and I wish I knew why you thought that.” His hand slips down a little bit so he can hold Enjolras’s, and he takes him closer into the room. “If you stay for a little longer, the man downstairs plays his violin and it’s wonderful music to dance to.”


End file.
